"Heard Miss Michaels had a heart attack while you two clowns were visiting' the old lady," Rachel remarked casually, passing each man a steaming cup of coffee. The aroma of freshly brewed caffeine filled the room, mixing with the scent of herbs as Sam tossed a pouch her way, eliciting a wrinkled nose from Rachel. "What's wrong with you?"
"Witchcraft," Sam sighed, rubbing his forehead as if warding off a headache that never seemed to dissipate.
"Why'd you boys visit her?" Rachel inquired, her curiosity evident as she settled into her chair.
"Her name was everywhere," Sam shrugged, taking a sip of the hot liquid to soothe his nerves. "Seemed like a good idea."
"Plus she's old as shit," Dean added bluntly, slamming a folder onto the table. "And we had questions about the man your granddad spoke of."
"Anythin' come up?"
"We found answers," Dean confirmed, sliding the papers toward her. They watched expectantly as Rachel pored over the contents of the folder, her expression shifting from curiosity to disbelief. "And more questions."
"Amos Michaels," Rachel breathed, leaning back in her chair, clearly stunned by the revelations. "And two little girls? How in the hell did the town forget about that?!"
"I don't—"
Slam!
The sudden noise jolted all three of them to their feet, rushing to the entrance in alarm. However, instead of a menacing figure, they found a familiar hoodie with its hood drawn up, casually setting a skateboard against the foyer wall before heading to the kitchen. It was the only way through to the rooms upstairs.
"Oi, kid, you scared the shit out of us!" Rachel chided, but Jezebel remained silent, her head bowed and hands tucked into her pockets. "You can't be slammin' doors!" Still no response and Dean frowned at the girl displaying an attitude.
"She's talking to you, kid," Dean interjected, attempting to block her path, but Jezebel sidestepped him without lifting her gaze. "Hey! Are you actually a dumbass now?" Still, Jezebel refused to acknowledge them, pushing past Dean to enter the kitchen.
"Uh-uh, no way! You ain't going to be a hothead and get away with it—!" Dean snapped, grabbing the back of her hood and pulling it down to stop her from gettin away, only to reveal her face. Before he could reprimand her further for her disrespect, his anger turned to shock as he noticed something alarming.
"Who the hell did this?" Dean demanded, his jaw clenched, but Jezebel tried to hide the evidence. "No, too late now. Who's the sonuvabitch?"
"It's none your business, asshole!" Jezebel retorted, slapping his hand away. "Leave me alone!"
"Jezebel, hun..." Rachel began, moving to stand beside Dean, but tears welled up in the teenager's eyes. Without another word, she stormed out of the house through the back door. Dean moved to chase after her, but Rachel halted him with a raised arm. "Let her go."
"The hell—?"
"Let her ride and talk to Moe while we drink some beer."
"Again with Moe?"
"It's become somethin' of a code word we use when she needs a minute to cool off."
"I think I need to talk to Moe..." Dean grumbled, reaching for a beer from the fridge.
"We all think you need to go talk to Moe." Sam drawled out and dodged the lazily sent wack to his head.
————
The darkness outside enveloped Rachel Jenkins' cozy home, but the doorbell pierced through the quiet night. With a small groan, Rachel rose from her seat and shook out her prosthetic leg to regain her balance. Opening the door, she was met with a surprise.
"Hi, Aunt Rachel," Liza greeted with a sheepish smile, her hand scratching the back of her head nervously.
"Liza, come on in," Rachel welcomed her niece warmly, ushering her inside with a quick glance over her shoulder. Liza effortlessly stepped over the salt-lined threshold. "What brings you here, sweetheart?"
"I was checkin' to see if you might have seen Bella?" Liza inquired as she settled onto the couch. "I hadn't seen her since last night, and I know she's usually here or out on the trails..."
"Well..." Rachel hesitated, but before she could respond, her study door swung open, revealing Sam Winchester, who immediately widened his eyes at the sight of the girl. "Oh, Liza, you know—"
"O-of course I know!" Liza interrupted, her voice slightly higher pitched than usual, her ears turning pink as she took in Sam's casual attire of a T-shirt and jeans. "I-it's good to s-see you, Agent?" Sam sighed.
"Liza, your aunt already knows about our world," Sam explained, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Also, your aunt should probably know that you know."
Both women exchanged shocked glances just as Dean emerged from the kitchen, his third beer in hand. When he caught sight of Liza, he made a quick attempt at an exit.
"Dean," Sam called out with annoyance.
"Shit," Dean cursed under his breath, taking a sip of his beer before turning around with a forced smile and a feint toast with his bottle. "Hi, Goldilocks."
Liza waved in awe, but she didn't have much time before her aunt demanded information from her, and in return. "So, we're all caught up, yeah?" Sam glanced around at everyone, noting the complex emotions swirling in the room. "Great, let's start with Henrietta."
"Oh," Liza reacted first, cowering a little under the scrutiny of the others' gazes. "W-well... Mom doesn't like her too much."
"But they talk every Tuesday," Sam pointed out.
"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer," Liza shrugged, pulling her hot chocolate mug closer to her chest. "But I've heard Momma grumblin' for years about how she's going to ruin everything or whatever."
"Right," Dean drawled, turning his attention to the scattered papers on the table below. "And she wasn't possessed... the spoons were silver."
"And she oversalts everything!" Liza exclaimed, eager to contribute and vent her frustrations. "I appreciate the food, but ugh. Too much salt to the point where Mom always brings her own dish when Miss Michaels signs up for dinner." Suddenly, all eyes were on her again. "What?"
The exchange of glances among the three adults left Liza feeling both concerned and annoyed. It was as if they were having a secret conversation without her, and she didn't appreciate it one bit.
"What?!" She demanded again, feeling the urge to assert herself. If she were more like Jezebel, maybe people would have answered her. But unfortunately, Liza wasn't assertive or aggressive enough to get what she wanted. "Ugh, seriously?"
"Liza... did your mom... drink anything Thursday night or feel bad or something weird?" Sam asked slowly, finally giving her the attention she needed.
"Just some water? Maybe? After Bible study, she went to grab the food and drinks but burnt her hand."
"But she didn't touch the tea?"
"No, I don't.. I don't think so. Why?"
Sam looked at Dean and gave he's permission with a nod of his head.
"There was holy water in the tea."
"What would that have to do with—" but her mind was racing. Rachel covered her mouth, a hint of shock in her breath, and Liza's eyes widened before her mouth dropped open. "No way. N-no... no!"
"Liza, please," Sam stood up, approaching the teen, who took a few steps away from the couches, her head shaking in denial. "Liza—"
"M-my momma is not a demon," Liza pleaded, seeking support from her aunt, who remained silent. "I-I-I..." But what defense could she give? She had read the books. She knew the signs. She knew the difference between a shifter and a demon and how to vaguely spot them.
"Liza, listen to me," Sam placed his hands over the teen's shoulders, but they drew no blush or look of awe. This time, Sam wasn't just a character; he was a man, a hunter who killed with the very hands on her now. "Your mother isn't a demon."
"B-but the signs. The salt, the burn from holy water a-and—"
"Your mom being a demon and being possessed by one are two different things," Sam responded kindly, his voice soft and slow to reassure her. "We can get rid of a demon. That's not an issue."
"You promise?"
"I promise." Liza nodded, reassured by Sam's firm oath, and allowed herself to be guided back to her spot on the couch. Her aunt handed her the now barely warm mug of hot cocoa.
"But first..." Dean spoke up. "We need to trap her, and I know just the place to do it."
Sunday: Day 6
Everyone goes to church on Sundays in the small town of Davis, Oklahoma.
And when you're the wife of a preacher, you don't even get an excused absence when you're sick. The wife of an Abel is both a wife of a pastor and the wife of a church. A woman of grace and kindness who supported her husband and the church before her.
And a wife who happened to freeze on the porch of the church and stared at the granite circle piece that nestled in the gravel sidewalk between the bushes.
"Are you comin' Momma?" Liza asked her mom from the bottom steps with hopeful eyes
"I've... gotta go help Jack at the altar, but I'll be there in a bit, Liza." She responded gracefully and swiftly turned on her heel to walk down the aisle and to the back door.
And Liza's smile turned into a face of horror as she quickly walked herself away from the church as fast as she politely could without raising suspicion or engaging in conversation.
The muffled click of her heels against the carpet accompanied Margaret's dignified stride, her head held aloft. As she exited through the back door, away from the congregation, she breathed a sigh of relief, only to be frozen once more at the ominous sight, there, amidst the the stoic chaos of a pile of gravel and a round rock, stood two FBI agents impeccably dressed in their Sunday best, armed with empty bottles of salt.
"Hey, Sammy." Dean began with a glance at the bottle in his hands. "What happens if you make a giant circle of rock around a church?"
"Well, not much." The other shrugged and both brothers looked at each other. "As long as you're human."
"What if I told you that circle of rock was hollowed out and filled with salt?" Dean asked sarcastically before turning his gaze to smirk condescendingly to the silently raging woman before them. "Wanna find out?"
"I've always heard you Winchesters were a pain in the ass." The woman in heels began her walk towards the edge of the circle, each step confident and poised. "And I can honestly say, I wish you were still in hell and your brother was with you."
Neither brother took satisfaction at the smirk on the woman's lips right before her eyes blinked to black. An "I told you so" was long away from their minds.
"Playing lovin' mom?" Dean mocked. "Or evil step mother?"
"Ah, one of them isn't even Margret's." The demon mocked before their eyes turned back. "You should be grateful it's only the one that I'm a bitch too."
"How long have you been playin' house?" The eldest demanded but all he got with a loud satisfied laugh. "Since when—?"
"Since when was I not here!" The demon exclaimed with her arms spread out as wide as the grin on her lips. "So many names, so many mothers. So little time."
"You... you've been possessing all of the women?" Sam asked incredulously and Margret smiled over at the human
"Oh, Sammy. How could I ignore you?" She jutted her lip out and spoke like a mother to son. "You must be so, so thirsty." Both men froze and the demon laughed while she stuck her forearm out. "Here, I'll help you out."
"Hey, wait—"
Slowly the demon dug a manicured nail across her arm and thin beaded red line followed the trail about three inches across. With a wave of her arm, she enticed Sam who attempted to stop breathing.
"Don't fight it! It's only natural to want to feed."
"Sam!" Dean exclaimed with a tight grip on his brother's shoulder. "Sam, get to the car. Go!"
"I-I'm fine!"
Dean shoved his brother away and followed the taller man, before hissing into his ear: "Find the sisters. Keep 'em safe!"
"Care to share with the class?"
"So, what's your real name?" Dean countered while Sam hurried to find both Jezebel and Liza. Folks had started to trickle away in their respective cars and bikes.
"Hmm." Margret crossed her arms and faintly tapped her fingers against her arms with that continued smirk. "I've had many names. Margret... Christine... Sandy." Disgust filled Dean to a shiver.
"Now that… that ain't right." Dean shook his thinking about the demon was her own mother in law. "So that's the plan is it? Possess a married woman, have a son, marry him off, posses your daughter in law and what? Kill the woman?"
"If it ain't broke, don't fix it." The demon shrugged. "But it seems that this body was cursed to only have a daughter."
"How is that a curse?" Dean snapped.
"Daughters are messy." Dean was starting to get anxious at the calmness of the demon in front of him and the lack of report from Sam. "Also, how weird is it if I were to posses the daughter of mine? We demons have some standards you know."
Standards. Dean was all too familiar with the standards of a demon and suddenly he wanted to tell her, show her, his standards. Because his were waning with each moment and becoming looser by the minute—
"Dean." Margret whispered with her toes just barely touching the line of rock. "You know what I love most about being a demon? It's not just hell and the beauty that humans are warped into."
"Alright, I've had enough." Dean snapped. "Exorcizamus te—"
She hissed but kept her wits with a hand to her head as if she could pull the pain out from it.
"It's that I won't be alone!" She laughed hysterically while the pain over took her. Doubled over and switching between hysteria and groans. "We're bringing everyone in this goddamned city with us!"
"-ecclesiam tuam securi—"
"You think a circle will stop us?! Stop him!?" She screeched in panic, on her knees and staring up with wide eyes.
"-te Rogamus."
"He's coming!" Was the last joyous screech of the demon before a cloud of black flowed from her lips and for the first time in awhile Dean actually regret exorcising so soon...
But there was no time to evaluate or dwell. Dean quickly checked on the poor woman her breathing and heart. Thankfully she was still alive although out cold considering the possible decades of possession...
Liza's worst fear had become true.
Ask her a week ago and her worst fear would have been her hair falling out. There was something about her already thin hair that gave her anxiety on the daily. Every look in a mirror was vanity in its finest.
But now, her fear was was something happening to her family. Her mother, the one she had been close to her whole life, being a demon? The same woman who brushed her hair, bought her cute clothes, and taught her the ins and outs of make up? How to talk to boys and let her gossip about break ups and get together?
There was no other reason for her mother to break the pattern of Sunday mornings. They would always walk away from the church together to mingle with the church members and see them off, but the moment her mom refused to pass through the salt circle that Dean had put together during the service.
Liza swung the doors to the office building open and let them close behind her. No one would be inside for a while. Everyone would be talking outside or leaving, but Liza would be in there. In the strangely dark and silent renovated wooden building.
Every click of her heels clacked against the linoleum and she rubbed her arms for warmth against the February air.
She made it past the the first set of doors and continued down the hallway to her father's office. Surprisingly unlocked and she decided to politely wait out whatever... whatever they did to her...
She wished she knew how to properly exorcise the demons. Or maybe even had the book with her. The brothers had insisted she leave all of her books from the series with them, much to her annoyance.
Maybe any Bible passage would work?
She knew a good number by heart.
"Liza?"
Liza stood from her father's desk and whipped towards the door, only to relax when a confused Jezebel stood in the doorway.
"What you doin' here?"
"I, uh, I'm just..." Liza played with the sleeves of her cardigan. That sole loose string at the end was very interesting. "Waitin' for someone?"
Jezebel snorted, but not in a way that was condescending but more of a humorous one. In all her hooded glory, the teen walked into the office and laid across the couch. Slowly, Liza sat down.
It was the first time Jezebel had sat with Liza willingly. On her own terms. No one telling or even asking her to do it. No threats, no begs, just her own decision. And it made Liza smile.
"What are you doing?" Liza tried to continue the conversation, but maybe she was pushing too hard? She didn't want her sister to leave. "I-I mean.. you don't have to—"
"Your mother said father wanted to see me in his office after church. Apparently she wanted to 'talk 'bout my attitude'." Jezebel had mercy and explained mocking. "Which I know is code for screamin' at my face in a sound proof room for an hour. So I messed 'round a bit before comin' here."
Liza flinched at her mother being mentioned and grew silent. So silent that Jezebel had taken to glancing at her sister to see if she had left. But instead of her sister either gone or sitting quietly, Jezebel was quick to scramble off the couch with a gasp and fumbled to grab the knife gifted to her from inside of her hoodie.
Because her bright eyed, happy, beautiful, annoying sister had sinister smoke entering her body with a choked breath that never made it out.
